Homicidal Plans
by gigicat88
Summary: DHr They are selected to be Head boy and girl...pretty cliche. However, the story is often interrupted by random tangents. You have been warned...visit my homepage for a more easytofollow format. R&R please! :3


"NOT AGAIN, CROOKSHANKS!" Ronald Weasley screeched upon landing at the bottom of the stairs with a cat stuck to his leg. The cat was a ginger color and had a squashed face like that of a pancake. Oh, I'm just kidding, pancakes don't really have faces. But if they did have faces, this cat's face would look like what we would imagine to be a pancake's face. Is everything clear now? Good.

"Ron, are you alright?!" screamed a terrified Harry who landed at the base of the stairs next to Ron with a loud pop. Yes. Harry finally got his permit to apparate. Which means that this is the Golden Trio's seventh year at Hogwarts. I know. It's so cliché that it almost made me cry to write it. Not really, but that's dramatic old me in progress. As in work in progress. Hahahahaha. Not really.

A pretty young woman with long, curly, caramel colored hair jumped up from her seat at the Weasley family's table and angrily huffed over to her now violently red-eared friend and screeched at him.

"RONALD WEASLEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK THAT YOU ARE DOING WITH MY CAT?! YOU COULD SERIOUSLY DAMAGE HIM BY FALLING ON HIM! WHAT HAS HE EVER DONE TO YOU?!"

Ron stared at Hermione with his mouth open in shock. He couldn't believe that one of his best friends, and his soon to be girlfriend (NO MORE CLICHES! I BEG OF ME!) would ask him that question when her precious cat was plainly stabbing him. How he hated cat's claws. And cat's teeth. And cat's tails. And anything that had to do with cats, especially the one that was on his leg.

His mouth was so agape, and agape for so long, however, that he began to drool, which Hermione assumed was from the loosely tied bathrobe that she was wearing. (Which it partly was.) She quickly pulled it shut with one fist and slapped Ron across the face with her other. Wait, she slapped him with a fist. That makes sense.

"Mione, what in God's name was that for?!" Ron shrieked, finally managing to dislodge Crookshanks with the help of Harry and a magical crowbar.

Hermione didn't answer. In stead, she stormed away up the stairs (making sure to pick up Crookshanks) (and step on Ron) to Ginny's room. Once there, she would tell dearest Virginia about the chauvinistic male pig that was eating bacon (Oh! the cannibal!) and brooding over his mistake with Hermione at that same moment.

"He likes you, you know," Ginny said while brushing her flaming red locks over her slim right shoulder, "he has ever since fifth year when you almost died. Actually it was probably before that, but Anne doesn't want to pore over each and every last page of all six books looking for any silly hints right at the moment. Maybe tomorrow."

Hermione sighed. It was obvious that Ron liked her. Why else would he drool over her body like the scum that he was? Truth was that she had begun to like him too, last year. But then he had gone off and ruined any chance that he had with her by snogging Lavender Brown half the time that he was awake. That had been a major turn off. Then there had been the whole porn under his bed escapade. After those endless issues of Playwizard hidden inside of old comic books had been uncovered by Ginny, she never liked Ron again. Too bad, so sad. But he shouldn't have treated women, or pictures of naked women, like objects.

That wasn't Ron's only fault, but that was the only fault she had uncovered up to that point, besides hating animals, being a stubborn idiot, and always wanting to cheat off her work. Oh, yes, and did she mention him being a chauvinistic male pig? Ah, I thought so.

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"Oh, Hermione, dear, I'm so excited for you! What an opportunity, even if there is a downside..." Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully, giving her a rib-breaking hug. After that Mrs. Weasley immediately apologized and healed the two cracked ribs, of course. Haha, that's just me kidding again. Aren't I funny?

It turns out that (as always in cliché stories, wait for it, waaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiit for it...) Hermione had been chosen Head Girl! But there was one downside...(why do I have to steal my storylines from thousands of others that are exactly the same that I thought were good? WHY?!) the Head Boy was (dare I say it and risk getting sued? Aww, what the hell) Draco Malfoy.

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" Hermione had shrieked upon reading the bottom of the letter after all the 'We are very proud' s and "It's so difficult theses days' s. She patiently waited for all the slow readers to finish reading and decided to do her nails in the spare time. La, dee, dah, dee, dum, dee, doo. Okay, they're almost finished...

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" shrieked everyone else as Hermione waved her left hand frantically to get the nails to dry faster. Once they were dry, she cupped her head in her hands and sobbed.

"How could Dumbledore have chosen him as Head Boy? HOW!?!" Hermione cried, losing all control for that one word, her face twisting in anger, but she quickly composed herself into the shy, sweet, curious, only experimental during the middle of this story girl that she was normally was, "He's such a sob jerk! He's sure to sob make me miserable throughout the whole year! I could never get along with him!"

"It's okay, Mione, we understand your pain," said Harry, hanging his head in sadness while Ron patted her on the back, "It's only for one year that you have to do hall duty with him, right?"

"Hall duty? Harry, didn't you read the letter closely? I have to shudder LIVE with him!" she cried in utter sorrow.

Everyone but Hermione turned back to read the discarded letter even more slowly and carefully while Hermione painted little lions on each fingernail. Once the lions were finished, everyone was only about halfway done reading, so she quickly washed her hair and put it up in a chignon, a process which would take quite a while for anyone except...SUPER HERMIONE!!! Not really, all she did was paint the lions and wash her hair. No chignons for Hermione. Boo hoo.

Once the Weasleys and company had finished the letter and realized that Hermione and Malfoy did indeed have to share a private dormitory, Ron stormed up to his room, muttering something about "pretty boy Malfoy" and "steal my girl" which, luckily, Hermione didn't hear. The rest of the magical people (except for Crookshanks, seeing as how he was hiding under Ron's bed, waiting to kill) crowded around Hermione and tried their best to comfort her. That's where Mrs. Weasley and the broken ribs came in.

So, anyway, on with the story. That night Hermione and Ginny talked about the unfairness of having to live with Draco Malfoy. Ginny didn't think it was such a bad proposition, and asked Hermione to get her a picture of Draco in the shower. Hermione tried to hold back her laughter at the absurdity of anyone, ANYONE, liking Draco Malfoy. Because she sure didn't. Nope, nuh-uh, nosiree. If everyone would kindly remember, he's her arch nemesis.

After their conversation, they heard a scream from Ron's bedroom and raced in to investigate. The sight that they found was not pretty. Ron was lying in his bed with his legs flailing around in the air, trying to kick Crookshanks off of them. Crookshanks was clamped tightly by both his claws and teeth and seemed to be quite enjoying the challenge. This was a fact that Hermione overlooked as she raced over to help him out. (Crookshanks, not Ron). As she caught Ron's leg she noticed a magazine that had been knocked to the ground in some kind of struggle. On the cover it said Playwizard in a loopy font that was being written over and over again on a blackboard by a girl with long curly brown hair in a skirt so short that as she bent over you could see every last thread of her underpants. Or lack of them. She was topless, revealing large round breasts and a tiny waist. Her face wasn't visible, making the picture all the more incriminating. Hermione was sickened. She pulled Crookshanks off and stormed out of the room, thoroughly aggravated at Ron. She had thought that Ginny's confrontation had embarrassed him enough to stop the disgusting habit. But, Ron was a man. Actually, no. He was a boy and was always craving more. Males! Who needs 'em?

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Draco Malfoy was at Malfoy Manor, (Yes, it's spelled m-a-n-o-r and not m-a-n-n-e-r. Big shock to most of the people whose stories I've read and are now reading this story and... Oh my God. Draco Malfoy is topless) topless, (mmm, topless) opening his letter from Hogwarts. He smirked as a shiny (ohh, those shiny pecs. Mmm, coconut oil) silver and green badge with the letters HB engraved on it. (Mmm, HB) He, of course, knew this was coming soon, and honestly, who was surprised? He had always been the most reliable, smartest (hottest! Don't forget hottest!), sexiest (that works, too) boy in all of Slytherin. Who could argue with that? Dumbledore (sniff Poor Dumbledore. Oh wait, that didn't happen! Hahaha! Isn't my happy place so wonderful for you to read about? I thought so, too) had, of course, chosen him as Head Boy. But wait... who could Head Girl possibly be? (No, no, no! You can't make me say it! It's so freaking cliché! Why, God, oh why? Eh, what the hell. I know I like it. It's just that when I was a little girl,...

_Get on with the story._

Oh, right! Terribly sorry! I'll just carry on then. With my cliché ideas. That I've stolen from other people cough copyright infringement cough Who said that? Show yer face, you dirty, heartless coward! I'll get yeh!

_Stop trying to entertain the readers with your multiple personalities. All they want is a little bit of plot, some hilarious anecdotes, a Newberry prize-winning, heartwarming moral, and some chocolate._

Chocolate?

_I didn't say chocolate. I said... um...a spellbinding cover! Yeah, that's it!_

No, you said chocolate because this is an online fanfic and nobody likes it enough to put a cover on it. Sad to say, but it's true.

_Um...er... well then, carry on.)_

After trying to get his letter out of the envelope by brute force, Draco simply smiled, placed it gently down on the table, and zapped it open with his wand, having finally come of age. The blackened edges of the parchment sizzled as he picked it up. He quickly read through all of the "we hate you Malfoy's" and "I can't believe you actually got Head Boy's" (clearly tampered on there by Potty and Weasel through use of the same spell that made parchment sex possible) to the bottom, where it mentioned something about sharing a private dormitory with the Head Girl. Draco didn't honestly waste time to read it through carefully.

_Well, that might not be so bad,_ he thought, a smirk quickly creeping to his lips,_ As long as the Head Girl's hot enough, and gullible enough to seduce, this arrangement works just fine for me._

At last, he would be getting steady sex all year with nobody to interrupt him. Oh, it was good to be Head Boy.

Draco ran up the ten flights of stairs to his parents' bedroom (Wow, so that's how he stays in such good shape. Hmm, I may have to remember that for later on) and raised the serpent shaped knocker to knock (wow, that was redundant) but was interrupted by a moaning sound coming from within. He shuddered, plugged his fingers in his ears, and raced up the next eight flights of stairs to his bedroom. (Wow, big Manor, eh Malfoy?)

Once to his bedroom, he slammed the stone door shut and read through his letter more carefully, just to get the moaning out of his mind, as it was now traveling over and over through the part of his brain which controls his ears, which Anne will be looking up very soon, just to make sure that this fic sticks to the facts. Hem, hem. Actually, that isn't true. Anne just likes to lie. Wait a minute, I've suddenly gone from third person to describing myself in first person to describing myself in third person. Ahh! The verb tense curse is spreading! What do you think of that? Ahh! Second person! Die, die, die! huff, huff, pant, pant It's cool. Oh, no I've done it again! First third, then first! When will the madness end?

Anyway, suppose Draco (third person) was in his bed. That makes sense, right? Oh, good. I feel like I've taken a step after walking through a charm that turns my world upside down, and after I've taken this step, my world turns right backside up and my glasses aren't falling off the end of my nose anymore. Then, when I look back, the charm is glittering innocently behind me. Hmm, didja get my reference to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire? Huh, didja? The part where he's in the maze and-

_Shut up and get back to the plot._

Before I was RUDELY INTERRUPTED, Draco was reading his letter. That's when he stumbled across the really frightening part. The part about...well, he can't bear to think of it right at the moment, so I'll just put in what the letter actually said.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy_

_You will be sharing a private dormitory with the Head Girl this year. This dormitory is not, for any purposes, to be used for sexual pleasures._

See how that's scary to him? Mr. Chauvinistic PIG can't even go for ONE YEAR without SEX.

_I don't think that's the scary part._

Oh, so now you're arguing with my all-seeing, all-knowing, I-am-the-writer-of-this-story-so-just-back-off judgement?

_Yes. Just tell them the truly scary part and stop acting like Draco's the bad guy of this story. He's not. That would be a Mr.-_

SHUT UP! Do you want to give away the entire plot line before we have even returned to Hogwarts?

_Yes._

Fine, then. You don't get chocolate.

_No chocolate?! WHY, GOD, WHY?!_

Actually, that wasn't the really scary part. I was just exaggerating to prove a point that Draco is a feisty little being. Remember that for later on in the story.

_As above-mentioned, you will be sharing a private dormitory with the Head Girl. This may come as a bit of a shock to you, but you are the Head Boy! This is why you will be sharing a dormitory with the Head Girl. Just making sure that things are clear. Are we cool now? Oh good. _

_The Head Girl this year is a Miss Hermione Granger of Gryffindor house. It's so hard these days-_

This was what had truly shocked, and scared Draco. He's not really THAT chauvinistic, I just like using that word a lot. Sorry.

_What does chauvinistic mean, anyway?_

That's a really good question.

His face buried in his hands, Draco buried his face even deeper into his hands and moaned. Wait, wait, wait, you with the perverted minds. Not THAT kind of moaning. A kind of depressed, at-the-end-of-his-options, primal sort of moan. Wait! Not THAT kind of primal! Oh, I'm getting nowhere fast, watching Phantom of the Opera, and going out of my mind from outside stimuli! Plus, I need a shower. Ooohh! Think of Me! It's probably a good thing that nobody can hear me right at this moment, as I am completely butchering the soprano part. Alto to the core, I am. A little bit of tenor mixed in there, as well.

Back to the story.

So anyway, Draco moaned. After he moaned, he moaned some more. It seemed like hours till he stopped moaning (when really it was only 37 minutes), and after he finally finished moaning, he...wait for it... moaned some more. Perhaps instead of explaining how much he was moaning,I should tell why he was moaning. Hmm, that's actually a good idea. Haven't had one of those in a while.

_Our dearest Head Girl this year will be the one, the only, the smartest girl in the school whom nobody can forget for long, the beautiful and talented Miss Hermione Granger._

_Granger._

_Granger._

Granger. 

Granger.

_Granger._

_Granger._

_Granger._

_Granger._

_Granger._

If you are 

reading thus far down,

You obviously

have too much time



Like me.

Let's get married.

Granger



7 seconds after the beginning of the rant:

Sex.

Yum.

Oh no!

Granger.

Granger.

Granger.

Granger.

And so Malfoy thought about his predicament in several different fonts. As well as some other thoughts, perhaps some... naughty thoughts? Eew! Chauvinism! It touched my keyboard!

_That bushy-haired, buck-toothed, stick-thin, no-figure, little smart-ass brat-faced b$&#()&#)!&$($# _ (a common wizard swear word) _is going to be sharing a common room with me, the illustrious, Quidditch-toned, kind-hearted, ivory-faced, God-granted good-looked, perfectly-mannered, Draco Malfoy?! This I will not stand for!_

And Draco did not stand for it. As a matter of fact, he squished those beautifully tight little Quidditch-toned buttcheeks further into his chair. It was quite a comfortable chair, with a plush green cushion and silver, serpent-shaped legs. It was, for sure, the perfect chair out of the many, many, many plush-green-cushioned, silver, serpent-legged chairs in Malfoy Manor. Especially perfect for squishing beautifully tight little Quidditch-toned buttcheeks into. Mm, buttcheeks. Remember those buttcheeks. They will be important later on in the story.

Pues, Malfoy salio su dormitorio y fue al bano. Too bad my keyboard doesn't have built-in accented vowels and en-yays for the n's. That would be awesome. And it would make it a lot easier to type Spanish papers. (By the way, that spanish (go espanol!) phrase means that "Well, Malfoy left his room and went to the bathroom. Which is true). Once in the bathroom, Malfoy went to the bathroom. ¿Tutu o pepe? Pepe, of course. In my happy world (as in many men's), nobody goes to the bathroom to do anything but pee or have sex. Actually, that's not true. I am making a statement on the chauvinism of men. Except for Lucus. sigh He's like my dark Draco from Spanish class. Without the chauvinism. And Eren is a lazy Mexican squirrel (Please do NOT be offended. This was an inside joke from Spanish class, and cannot be understood without a lengthy explanation. But I can assure you that no part of the creation of this joke was in any way offending. I am also an annoying pigeon. Same class, same two people in the entire world who would understand. Gee, I hope Eren reads fanfics.)(Leave a comment if you would like the full explanation of this joke, even though it was more of a you-had-to-be-there type of joke. On with the story.

_...I thought you'd never say that._)

Draco also decided to take a long, relaxing shower. Now when I say long and relaxing, I mean like lazy cat on a hot summer's day, cooped up inside on a plush pillow and luxuriously licking its legs. One. By. One. This shower was very steamy, and Draco cupped his face in his hands in a worried manner. How would he get through an entire year cooped up inside a common room with that teacher's-butt-kissing, know-it-all, chocolate-eyed-- Suddenly a cat popped out of the showerhead and began to screech at the water being suddenly dumped onto it. Now I'm not talking your ordinary type of screech. I'm talking cat that has just popped out of the showerhead for no apparent reason when it was just inside on a plush pillow on a hot summer's day, lazily... This forced Draco's head to snap back in alarm and hit his head on the corner of his soap-holder-thingy inside his shower. He yelled a deep tenor roar and grasped the back of his head as stars popped in front of his eyes. His head was in incredible pain, not to mention the angry cat now clawing its way up Draco's left leg. Didn't Hermione have a cat? ...Why did he just think of Granger (yes, GRANGER and not Hermione) at a time like this? Draco felt an incredible swooping sensation in his lower abdomen as he once again thought of those pleading eyes, begging him not to hurt her... and with a pop, the cat was gone again. But now Draco had worse issues than a disappearing cat. He had never before seen Granger with such an expression on her face. Why on Earth would his damned subconscious make up an image so beaut—ugly as that?! Also, Draco had never before performed accidental magic without a wand. How could a thought of a Mudblood, let alone _that_ Mudblood, spark such energy in him? Draco's head was spinning, and perhaps not only from the large bump on the back of it.

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Meanwhile, Hermione was having problems of her own. Ron had once again began screaming bloody murder. And Crookshanks was nowhere to be found. Did Hermione dare open the door to the porn-pen in order to save her love? (Crookshanks) Of course, she did, she's a Gryffindor.

Hermione carefully swung open the door to Ron's haven of harem, and was immediately livid. Ron had dunked her one, her only, her _preciousssss_ in a basin of water. Crookshanks was drenched thoroughly, as though he had just been in a shower, and was killing Ron as if it were a famous sport and he were playing for Britain. Ron was already practically drenched in blood. Hermione assumed that Crookshanks was getting revenge for Ron breaking her heart, and so she secretly was rooting for him as she tugged him off Ron's leg. Just because Ron was a chauvinistic male pig did not mean that her cat should go to Azkaban for murdering him. Hmm, interesting proposition, murdering Ron.

Hermione swung her hips as she stalked out of Ron's room. Hhmph. She slammed the door as cradled Crookshanks in her fuzzy bathrobe, having just washed her hair for the third time that day. Man, is that girl clean. That will also need to be remembered for later on in the story. That cleanliness sure will come in handy for Dr... dragons. Yeah, that's right, dragons. Those dragons will... um... be able to smell Hermione out because of her constant scent of...soap. Nevermind. Forget all that I've said from _That will come in handy..._

On with the story. Hermione in the shower. Yes, that's about where I was, wasn't it? So she's scrubbing. Scrubbing. Scrubbing. And...scrubbing some more. Nevermind. At this particular point in the story, Hermione is already out of the shower. But wait! Through the glorious power of flashback, we can recreate Hermione's showering experience! So now I will allow you to drift into the world of Hermione's shower...

Scrubbing, scrubbing, and more scrubbing. Then a quick rinse under the hot water. Yes, that's what I said. Hermione likes her showers hot and steamy. And her bath gel...I'm getting a vision...it's rose-scented! Of course if I were getting a vision, I wouldn't really be able to _smell_ her bath gel...it would be more of a smell-sion. Or a scent-sion. Unless, of course, I were to read the label on her bath gel. That would solve all of the reader's confusion problems. Oh no, the curse of the verb tense is back! I used third person when second would have been sufficient! I can feel...the light...everything's going blurry...exhale...actually more of a death rattle than an exhale...

Hermione poured more rose-scented bath gel onto her damp sponge and lathered it up. She ran it gently up her glistening arms and thought about Dra-Ron. Although he was a chauvinistic male pig, he read porn on a regular basis, and he thought that cats were murderous beings; he did have a rather nice bum. And that hair, in all it's silky silver...orange glory. Oh, who was she kidding? She was in love with Drac...Ron. But lurking deep within a dark corner of Hermione's eyes, a pair of steely silver eyes burned their way into her skull. And with a tremendous _bang_, a large emerald serpent was coiled loosely around her slim neck. She froze mid-lather. She could feel the smooth, slightly chilled surface of the snake slowly, gently constricting. Her eyes squeezed shut. She was terrified. An image of Draco seemed to burn itself into her head, constricting as did its counterpart, the snake. Just when she was about to yell for help, the snake-like slits of Draco's eyes softened and took on a very reassuring aspect. The snake gave one last, comforting squeeze before popping out of her shower and out of her life. Hermione leaned against the shower wall and took several shaky breaths. One hand placed gently against her throat, she reached out with the other and turned off the steady stream of hot water. She was stepping nervously out of the shower when a strangled yelp came from the general direction of Ron's room. She hurriedly yanked her fuzzy blue bathrobe off of the hook that it generally hung on and wrenched open the door. That was when she discovered the Crookshanks incident number two and first had her delightfully evil thoughts about murdering Ronald Weasley.

Hermione later crawled into her warm, consolatory bed and cradled the now dry and fuzzy Crookshanks in her arms. She was so very, very confused. She knew that Ron really wasn't a bad guy (despite what she had been thinking of him previously that day), but she had been dropping subtle hints to him for six years. He still hadn't asked her out. There were other guys, certain sexy Slytherins with platinum blond hair, for one. Perhaps it was time to move on? _Life is oh so confusing. Maybe sleep will help..._ these were Hermione's last thoughts before drifting off into a deep and yet restless sleep.

_A deep and thick fog crowded and slowed the many synapses of Hermione's now sleeping brain. It swirled together a most pleasing blend of crimson, gold, emerald, and silver. There was also some flaming orange in there, but it wasn't included in the previous list because it wasn't pleasing at all to Hermione's subconscious. In fact, as soon as it pushed past the gates of...Hermione's subconscious, it was pushed right back out again to dwell, lonely, in the dark, inactive recesses of Hermione's libido. The gates shut firmly behind the crimson, gold, silver, and emerald fogs so as not to let any nasty orange fog in. The crimson and emerald fogs entwined, forming into the shapes of a man and woman. Slowly the figures became clearer and clearer, emerging out of the mist in their true forms. The man was tall, slight, and had silvery-blond hair. The woman was slightly shorter, with a tiny waist and small hips curving away from her body. Her hair fell about her in soft tendrils that reached to her pelvis. They were dressed in matching black robes that stretched nearly to the ground beneath them. The walked hand in hand; small, secretive smiles formed on their faces as if they had everything they could possibly want in the world at that particular moment. The man was wearing a cozy green and silver scarf, while the woman wore a matching crimson and gold one. She giggled, presumably at something he had said, and then quickly bent to retrieve a handful of snow from the cold ground. She tossed it playfully at him. He stared, open-mouthed, at her before retaliating with a handful of snow of his own. She overbalanced and toppled backward to land softly in the pillow of snow now carpeting the floor of...Hermione's subconscious. He grinned devilishly then scooped her into his arms. Small, flailing fists beat against his chest as she struggled for release, but he would not grant it. Instead, he raced toward a small cottage. He fumbled for his key in a pocket of the robe, and opened the door into the house. A blazing fire crackled in the grate and a cozy loveseat was set directly in front of it. The man set the woman down gently before closing and locking the door. She shivered in spite of herself, staring in awe at the great works of wizard art that adorned the rich walls. _

_"Like my love nest, Hermione?" he questioned with a grin, hanging his cloak and scarf on an empty coat rack next to the door. It sniffed ungratefully at the snow that now decorated the otherwise dry cloak. He then hung her cloak and scarf next to his; carefully making sure that her wand was still tucked inside the pocket. _

_"It's...oh, Draco, it's gorgeous!" she exclaimed as she reached up and hugged him tightly around the neck. He growled primally and placed his hands on her lower back, holding her near him. She gasped, then smiled into his throat. _

_"What say we put this shack to some good use, lover boy?" she questioned, a mischievous glint finding her eyes. He growled in return and then brutally whipped her into his arms once again. This time she did not struggle. He kicked open a door leading presumably into his bedroom, and shut it behind them. cue camera zoom into bedroom _

Warning. The following scene contains sexual content. If you don't like that kinda stuff, don't read it. And please don't sue me, the characters aren't mine.

_After the camera zoomed into the bedroom, Draco and Hermione were sitting on the bed. Draco was holding Hermione's face gently in his hands, staring deeply into her eyes. Her deep brown eyes shone with lust and something completely unidentifiable. Draco believed that it was more lust, but in truth it was love. cue camera pan to close-up of Draco's face Draco's silver eyes shone with a HECK of a lot of lust, and a small bit of tenderness and love. He slid his hand gently up her back until he reached her neck, which he gently tickled. She swooned into his chest. _

_"Ticklish neck much, Hermione?" he questioned with a devilish grin. She nipped his shoulder playfully and he gasped. _

_"Ticklish shoulder much, Draco?" she retorted. He glanced at her curly brown head fondly and slid his hand gently around to the front of her, where he began to deftly unbutton her blouse. He unbuttoned until he was able to grasp her breast through her bra, and rub her sensitive nipple gently with his thumb._

_**Sex scene over. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be. You'll understand in time. Maybe.**_

Hermione sat up in bed with a gasp. That...that...that dr-nightmare had awoken her from an otherwise restful nap! Why?! Why must Draco constantly be on her mind? He was a prick, a dillhole, a slimy, ferrety git, a sexy ... no. He wasn't sexy. Not at all. Not a little ferret boy. Who wore his hair slicked back until three years ago. Not now, not EVER! He would NEVER be sexy to her. For all she cared, he could rot in her be-...hell. Yes, that's what she meant to say, hell. His own personal layer of hell, where only the truly unsexy, damned little ferret boys went. Yes, THAT layer of hell.

_Perhaps I need a cup of tea..._ Hermione thought with a sigh, and swung her legs over the bed. Crookshanks was nowhere in sight.

_He must be having fun with the birds outside, or having fun taking revenge on Ron for me. Either way, I'm happy._ Little did she know that Crookshanks really was having fun with the birds outside. She also knew little of how the birds were having absolutely no fun whatsoever. WHAT...SOEVER.

Hermione sauntered down top the Weasley kitchen in a Hermione-sauntering down to the Weasley ktchen type of way. Which is surprising, because Hermione was neither sauntering nor Hermione! She was actually...MOSEYING! And she was really a mind-controlled being from the planet GET STRAIGHT A's ON ALL HOGWARTS EXAMINATIONS AND WE SHALL TAKE OVER THE EARTH. GRR. Which is surprising, because getting straight A's on all Hogwarts examinations by no means allows one to take over the Earth. Which would make the aliens rather clueless. Which is surprising, because in order to get straight A's on all Hogwarts examinations, one must be anything but clueless. Which doesn't make sense. Okay, so maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps Hermione isn't an alien. But I was right in the aspect that she didn't saunter, she moseyed.

Once Hermione (NOT the evil, mind-controlled alien from the planet GET STRAIGHT A'S ON ALL HOGWARTS EXAMINATIONS AND WE SHALL TAKE OVER THE EARTH. GRR.) finished moseying her way down the many Weasley flights of Weasley stairs, she began to prepare herself a cup of tea. Mmm, tea. You know who likes tea? I like tea. Tea is good. And it's good for you. Unless you have black tea. You know why black tea isn't good for you? Because it has a lot of caffeine in it. Some people say that caffeine stunts your growth, but that really isn't true. Know why that isn't true? Because I've been drinking coffee since Iwas seven and now I'm fifteen and I'm six feet tall. Huh. Kinda proves those "experts" wrong, doesn't it? But wait. If I just proved that caffeine really isn't bad for you, then I kinda proved that black tea isn't bad for you. Which would make my earlier statement false. But if my earlier statement were false, then the statements succeeding it would also technically be false. Which would mean that my earlier statement were true. But then the statements following it were also true. Which would make my earlier statement false.

_And that, kids, is what we call a paradox._

_What's another paradox?_

_Hmm...let's see... oh! I got one! Could Jesus microwave a bean burrito so hot that he himself could not eat it?_

_Hmm. Well, Jesus can do anything, so technically yes._

_But... but... wait... THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE A PARADOX! _

Hermione curled up on the squishy Weasley couch in the squishy Weasley living room with her cup of green tea (I suppose that the previous statements on black tea didn't really matter) and relaxed. She didn't really understand what relevance Draco had to do to her, especially the matter of loving Ron but hating Ron. She glumly stared at the Weasley clock. Currently, all hands were turned to 'shopping.' OH CRAP! SHE FORGOT THAT THE ANNUAL TRIP TO DIAGON ALLEY STARTED TEN MINUTES AGO!

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Hermione was panicking. And not the good, sexy kind of panicking, but the deep, missed a shopping trip kind of panicking. How was she going to get revenge on Ron for hurting her poor Crookshanks? More pressing yet, how was she going to get her schoolbooks? Gasp! The lightbulb lit above her head! And I don't mean that she had an idea, which she actually did, but a lightbulb literally lit above her head. It had been rather dark in the living room, so she had turned on the light. But still more exciting, Hermione had an idea! A fabulous idea! An idea so very ingenious, so mind-blowingly wonderful, only she could have thought of it! What was her idea, you ask? I don't know yet! I'm not a mind- reader!

"I have an idea!" shrieked Hermione. Terribly sorry for the redundancy, but it was vitally important to the story.

"My idea is ingenious! It's so mind-blowingly wonderful that only I could have thought of it!" (what did I tell you?) "I'll follow them through the floo system!"

So Hermione followed her idea, and tossed a handful of sparkling green floo powder onto the crackling flames. Although, if the flames were truly crackling before hand, she wouldn't have needed to turn 0on the light. Okay, wait. So Hermione first lit a magical fire in the fireplace, and THEN tossed on the floo powder. That makes more sense.

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Draco stared in disgust at his bedroom wall, particularly the posters of half-naked witches. He had just had the most...well, disgusting experience of his life and his mind was not recovering rapidly. He had just woken from a dream involving Granger, scarves, and nipples. The part that disgusted him most was the scarves. (What a twist!) They were so... Hogwartsy. They reminded him of school as he pleasured Granger.

_Huh. You'd think that Draco would be disgusted more by Granger, the muggle-born, than her scarf._

Ahh, yes, but Granger is a female.

_Soo...?_

She has boobs.

_...Oh. Right. (the chauvinistic pig.)_

Draco rubbed his temples furiously, trying desperately to get the image out of his head. Those scarves... wait a minute, GRANGER was the most disgusting part of the dream. GRANGER! GRANGER! HERMIONE SOME SORT OF MIDDLE NAME GRANGER! How could he have thought even for a minute that scarves were more disgusting than that Mudblood? How? HOW?! He nearly burst into tears, but quickly regained composure as a rap on his door brought him back to reality. Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, walked into the room without waiting for a response. He nodded approvingly at Draco's new poster (a witch who looked quite a bit like Pansy, right down to the frilly pink undergarments) and glanced around the room until his eyes fell on the empty glass cage.

"Son? Son? Where on Earth is Monty?"

Draco swung his head around in alarm and gaped at the still-empty cage. His large emerald python, Monty (haha, Monty Python, geddit?) was nowhere in sight. A slight, slithery sort of hiss alerted him to Monty's whereabouts, in his shower. Draco treaded carefully across the still damp bathroom rug and lifted Monty gently out of the deep silver basin. He strode back to the cage and carefully set Monty back inside, making sure that the top was securely on.

"What on Earth was Monty doing in your shower, son?" Lucius asked with a sneer.

"i have no idea, father."

"What was that, boy?"

"I have no idea, father."

Of course, Draco did have some idea. Everything seemed to be going haywire with his magic today. First he sends a mysterious cat into his shower, then his own snake. And to top it all off, he has a sex dream about Granger. What else could go wrong?

"Well, well, Draco. I consider this very irresponsible of you. Now, what shall we do for your punishment?"

Aw, crap. Draco was in for it now. Lucius, unlike normal parents, didn't simply punish his children, he tortured them. For example, when Draco was three and "accidentally" set his father's flying carpet on fire via use of his arms and the fireplace, Lucius told Draco that he couldn't have sweets for a week. And that's not the worst part! You see, it happened to be Narcissa's birthday the next day, and Draco wasn't allowed even one lick of the succulent butter cream icing. It nearly killed him. Of course, most of that torture is from Draco being coddled his whole life, but hey, it still felt like torture to Draco.

"Draco, I believe that I shall put you off sweets for a week," Lucius said maluciusly.

_NOOOOOOO!!! _thought Draco no-ingly. _NOT THE SWEETS!_ Draco didn't think that he could stand an entire week without sweets. Of course, to some viewers, Draco's previous thought may have sounded wrong. But that is only to the viewers whose minds are as dirty as SPAM. Mmm, SPAM. Draco, although he would never admit it, really liked SPAM. Mmm, SPAM. SPAMmy SPAMmy SPAM SPAM SPAM.

And now, a word from our sponsors!

Eat Spam. It's delicious!

And now, back to the show!

So yes. I kind of forgot what I was writing about, so I believe that I shall start a new story. Something about an eleven-year-old boy with glasses and a heart shaped scar on his forehead. His name will be Herman Baker.

"Oh Herman!" squealed Herdrangledey Gragner. "I can't believe that we have Transmetaphorcation together!"

_NO! GET BACK TO YOUR STORY! YOUR REAL STORY! THE ONE WHERE DRACO JUST LOST HIS SWEETS!_

...You're a pervert.

_NOT THOSE SWEETS! PANTPANT I WANNA READ THE ENDING SO THAT I CAN GET ON WITH MY LIFE!_

Aww, I had no idea that anyone could possibly be so very attached to this story. I mean, honestly, I thought it sucked. I guess that makes me stupid. Or, wait... does that just make you a moron to the square root of bananas times pi?

_I'm not a moron! I'm very intelligent!_

Well, I did say bananas. No need to get so huffy about it.

So, back to the real story. For some reason, Monty (pun!) had ended up in Draco's shower. No reason to become freaked out about that, right? Oh wait, that's right. There was the whole matter of a cat appearing in his shower and Monty disappearing. Hmm. He would have to consider this later after...Diagon...Alley...shopping. SHIT! HE FORGOT THE TRIP TO DIAGON ALLEY!

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So, Hermione is in the floo system. And there are green floo flames swirling around her. They are licking at her face, torso, hair, bosom...wait a minute. Bosom? What kind of crappy word choice is that? What, am I some sort of olde Englifh gentleman author now? And why did I spell Englifh that way? oh, that's right. Olde Englifh people sometimes used f's instead of s's! That's kinda funny. You know what else is kinda funny? When I read this story in Writer's Club. Whenever there is a part that I will not read in front of Mr. Gusto (sp?), everyone crowds around and shrieks and reads with bouts of evil laughter. It's kinda creepy. Online, today, there were only the first four chapters. I've added about two more mid-length chappies since. So I suppose that I will have to add all of this from Draco's shower scene on. Yes, that sounds about right. And the part about SPAM. SPAM is good. As is jam. And ham. CAMELOT!

So, Hermione is in the floo system. And now she's not. Boy, that was fast. Now she's at...oh, crap, she doesn't know where she is. But it appears that she is in that one shop in Knockturn Alley. What's it called? Barnum and Bailey's? Bratties and Boy Bras? Bestiality and Bondage? Oh yes, I do believe it was that last one. So Hermione is in the fireplace at Bestiality and Bondage, and she is scared. Not just scared, but terrified. Mostly because she is in the fireplace of a shop called Bestiality and Bondage, but also because she has seen a certain rival of hers at the window. A certain...sexy rival? Of course, that's how all of the stories go. But I'll bet that none of them have ever come up with the name Bestiality and Bondage for a shop down Knockturn Alley. Okay, now that I've said that, somebody is going to claim the rights to it and I'll be sued. And lose all of my money. And my computer. Which means that I would never update this fic again. Ever. So, if you wish to read the end of this fic, please do not sue me for the rights to Bestiality and Bondage.

Hermione scrambled for the sexy cabinet as a sexy young man raced in the sexy door, slightly and sexily disheveled. Remember that dishevelment. It will be important for later on in the story.

Since I haven't loaded chapter six yet, and the last thing I remember was Hermione in the fireplace at Borgin and Bondage or whatever it was called, that's where I'll start. So Hermione is in the fireplace. And she's scared. No, wait, I have a better adjective. She's terrified! Why is she terrified, you ask? Why, of course, Draco has just walked in the door of Bestiality and Bondage. Kind of reminds me of Harry Potter 3. Or was it two? I think that it was two, because that's the one where the Weasleys steal Harry from the Dursleys. And then Harry goes to live with the Weasleys, and then he goes to Diagon Alley, and then he gets stuck in the fireplace at Bestiality and Bondage because he was too stupid to pronounce Diagon Alley and he accidentally said diagonally, and then Draco walked in the door, and Harry was forced to hide in the cabinet. Which is a lot like Hemione's story, but Hermione's not going to hide in a cabinet. Because Hermione is paralyzed by fear. Or, wait, I have a better noun! Terrifiedosity! It's the act of being terrified! That reminds me of when Lexi and I were in English and we gave that speech and I started listing adjectives, and then at the end I said "and all those adjectives." hahahahahahah! isn't that funny? No wait, it's hilarious. You know what's weird? When people pronounce hilarious as high-larious. Except that it's not weird, because Lucas says it that way. nothing Lucas does is weird. drool all o'r Lucas Oh! Oh! Oh! I have Lucas' phone number! I found a number listed on a bathroom stall that said called Pukas (Lucas Pukas) he's a great guy. And he is. aww. You know why Lucas is called Lucas Pukas? Because that's what his friends call him. I don't know why. But it reminds me of that really dorky guy from The Ant Bully commercials. cuz the bullies all called him Lucas pukas, and then he was like 'waaaah, they called me Lucas Pukas" hahahahah. I like making fun of him. But not Lucas. I would never make fun of Lucas. Because Lucas is cool.

anyway, Hermione is in Bestiality and Bondage and she's paralyzed with terrifiedosity. Because Draco just walked in the door. ooh! i just had a great idea! I'll submit terrifiedosity to Webster's! I'm really sorry for all of the typos, guys, but this is my off block and i am bouncing off of the walls from just finding Lucas' number. mmm, Lucas' number. Note to self and Writer's Club: if I haven't already called Lucas' number, we must do it during Writer's Club. Because calling Anne's stalkee SO pertains to writing. Actually, it kinda does, since it is written in my story. So that makes it a PARADOX!!!!!! DUMDUMDUM! cue camera zoom wow, I really don't like typing on anything but my Microsoft word at home. hey, another note to self, read gooshy Lucas essay to Writer's Club. Cuz I'm sure they'll like it...maybe.

So Draco walks in the door. And Hermione is sitting in the fireplace, with a smudge of smoky black soot on her right cheek. Remember that cheek. it will be important for later on in the story.

_Because Ron will pat her cheek after they kiss and make up for her cheating on him with Draco?_

do you want to give away the entire story? I mean, no. Absolutely not. Hermione will never get together with Ron because he is a ...chauvinistic...male...pig. AGH! i just gave away part of the plot! But wait! I could turn that into a literary term and call it foreshadowing! oh, the mistakes that can be corrected with absolutely no effort whatsoever...chuckle

Draco froze in his footsteps. And not figuratively, i mean literally. Because Hermione just became unparalyzed from terrifiedosity, and she cast a freezing spell on him. Oh, it's good to be seventeen. (Lucas is seventeen)

Hermione raced out of the door and bolted down the street, knocking over several wrinkled plums on trays. Or what she HOPED were wrinkled plums. They did seem to have a lot of hair...EEW! SHRIVELED HEADS!

Tears streaming down her cheeks (what did I tell you? Cheeks are important to this story), Hermione turned the corner into Diagon Alley and bumped into...Draco? WHAT?!

End of Chapter 7! Muhahahahahaha! Ask about the musical! It will be coming out in 2012! And don't forget to ask Anne to read her gushy Lucas essay! Even though she will SAY that she doesn't want to read it, she really does! Lucas' number! Whoot!

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Draco stared lov- disgustedly at the small figure huddled in his arms. This gorg- Mudblood was coming to HIM for comfort? And he thought that she was smart.

Hermione turned her face toward Draco's and- SNAP! Back to reality, woop, there comes gravity, WOOP, you don't have any what?! Say what?! Rap sucks?! Indeed?! I AGREE?! Now THAT'S terrifying.

_Sure, you never agree with anything that I say. That's for sure. _

I can't help it if you're stupid.

_...Shut up, Steve._

On another note, do you know what song that I like? Moonlight Sonata. In fact, I think that I will teach it to myself on the guitar right now.

_No you won't. You're going to finish this story._

Well, fine. Be that way. I'll just write my purely genius fanfic and not get distracted.

Hermione pushed herself away from Draco's chest. I mean, honestly, she had been scared and wanted comfort from someone that she knew, but DRACO?! Psshaw, she certainly doesn't like him. Nuh-uh. She hates him, remember? In any case, she raced away from Draco's meltingly gorgeous gray eyes. They remind me of Lucas' eyes, except that Lucas' eyes are brown. But they're both meltingly gorgeous. Well, technically, all four are meltingly gorgeous, because Draco and Lucas both have two eyes apiece. So, to summarize-ooh, shiny!

_SMACK Back to the story._

Owie...fine. Be that way. If you want the story to be updated THAT much, then I suppose that you should write it yourself. I LEAVE. several stomps that become consecutively quieter, as if someone is leaving

_Oh, shit. Well...I suppose that I could try..._

_Draco raced after Hermione and caught her slim wrist._

"_I love you," he whispered to her, tickling the fine hairs of her ear as he blew gently on it._

NO, NO, NOOO!!!! I TRIED TO STAND IT, AND I CAN'T STANDS NO MORE!

_Well, I'm sorry if I enjoy a small amount of romance in between the sex scenes now and then. I guess you could call me weird, but I don't think that Draco and Hermione's relationship should be purely about sex dreams and shower fantasies._

But that's just the point! They don't HAVE a relationship yet! I'm merely adding some plot before they fall madly in love with each other and elope- I mean, go to Hogwarts and have an entirely uneventful year.

_So your complaint with my writing is that I write about things that will never happen, correct?_

No, my complaint with your writing is that you're giving away the plot-I mean, yes. That will never happen between Hermione and Draco. Because they hate each other. And that is why they aren't standing on the same sidewalk any longer. Crap, where did they go?

Camera shakes from side to side as if cameraman is shaking his head from side to side

Great, just great. Now our documentary is ruined. Bill, how could you let this happen?

_I'm sorry, seven hundred and fifty pages of the script were stuck together. I guess I just kinda skipped to the end without thinking about the three-inch-high stack of papers that I was skipping. Now I feel terribly. I'm sorry._

Nevermind, just help me find them.

'_Kay, 'kay. So we're cool?_

Yeah. We're cool.

Oh! It appears that we have found our heroine! And not the kind that's in a needle. Ooh, that would be a cool plot twist, to have Hermione stuck in a giant needle and Draco must save her. Perhaps I'll save that for the next dream sequence.

Hermione was desperately searching for the Weasleys. She had searched the Ollivander's, Florean Fortescue's, and Madame Malkin's robe shop (where she had found the back of a rather disgruntled Ron's head). So far, she had found no one of value to her.

_Aww, poor Ron._

What the hell are you doing, Bill? Stick to the script!

_Oh, sorry. ahem Ron sucks. What a chauvinistic male pig._

Ah, and yes, we finally found Draco. He's drinking a chilled coffee in Hollywood. Being able to apparate is truly amazing, especially when your lov- archenemy just ran into your arms.

Ron was dumbfounded. how...original. Hermione had just raced past Madame Malkin's robe shop and completely ignored him. I mean, honestly, he knew that she was mad, but psshaw. Women are idiots.

Suddenly Ron was transfigured into a toad. He was small, warty, and brown. Wow. Caitlin just burst out laughing in that bursty-outty-laughy way of hers. (If you wish to know why that small, warty, and brown thing made Caitlin burst out laughing...well, then, you can't know.)

Because Ron had suddenly become small, warty, and brown, Madame Malkin's evil plot was foiled. Want to know what her evil plot was? To poke Ron in his smarmy little ass. (Okay, I'm just kidding. I'll tell you why Caitlin burst out laughing. See, I am typing this in Writer's Club. Well, technically Writer's Club is over, but that's not the point. Hannah just read a rape scene, and I suppose that small, warty, and brown seemed funny after that. I wonder why. _I know why! _Well, tell me, you little...oh.) I mean, honestly, who wouldn't want to poke Ron in his smarmy little ass?

After Hermione's Ron (shudder) experience was over, she searched for Harry and the Weasleys (excluding Ron) again. She couldn't find any of them. Ooh, this is very odd. First we can't find our heroine (needle dream sequence!) and hero (need dream sequence? hahahaha, my jokes are hilarious. See, it's a play on letters. Like a play on words, only not.) (Heyyyyy, a need dream sequence sounds kinda like a sex dream. Which is what Draco and Hermione had about each other. Isn't it kinda neat the way that everything in the English language can be connected through one way or another?? Kinda like how everything in the English language sounds like my name. Seriously. Anne...can...pan...ran...tan...san...d...Think about it!!

_What about pickle?_

Well, of course! Pickle is a word in the English language, is it not? Okay, watch, or rather, hear, and learn. Anne...pickle...see??) and now our heroine can't find the members of her host family. That's what you would call the Weasleys, isn't it?? Because they kinda sorted hosted her for the summer. Except that I think a host family involves foreign exchange students, which involves learning. But, wait!! Hermione, due to her book-smarty know-it-all-ism, is constantly learning. So, Hermione, in a foreign (ish) exchange program kinda way, left her home and family to live with the Weasleys, her host family, in order to learn in a new environment. Once again, anything in the English language can be connected through one way or another. Any questions? gooooood.

Suddenly, Hermione stumbled into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. WEll, that's interesting. I guess that Fred and George finally opened up a store in Diagon Alley, considering that Hermione just stumbled into a store with the same name as their store in Hogsmeade. Unless...no, they wouldn't! Maybe the Death Eaters killed Fred and George, stole their identities, and opened up this store that sells only sabotaged products infected with the Imperius Curse in order to have helpless Hogwarts students fall into their control?? Well, maybe I'm just being paranoid. Of course, it could happen. Keep your eyes open, helpless Hogwarts students! I'm going to go and nail up eye-opening posters about the fiendish Death Eaters' sinister plot. Bill, you take over. walks away with hammer, nails, and paper as if to go and nail up eye-opening posters about a fiendish Death Eaters' sinister plotwhistle as you work

_Okay, then. I suppose that I'll just flip to the next page in the script. Hmm...so hard not to skip over 750 pages. Must...resist...can't! _

_Draco raced after Hermione and caught her slim wrist._

"_I love you," he whispered to her, tickling the fine hairs of her ear as he blew gently on it._

"_But what about Pansy??" Hermione inquired incredulously, "I thought that your father had an arranged marriage set up between you two."_

"_He did, my love, but I murdered him, her, and all of the others who have interrupted out sexual escapades." he murmured into the sensitive skin of her neck, licking and biting his way down to her collarbone._

_Hermione gasped, the sensations—_

Okey, dokey, I'm back! Wait a minute...why is the script 750 pages away from where it was two minutes ago?? BILL?!

_Um...I'm a ...uh...fast...writer...?_

Well, Nevermind that. I suppose I'll just have to hex you later on today, when you least expect it. muhahahahahHAHAHAHA!!!!

_Eep._

Well, whether or not the Diagon Alley Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is a sinister Death Eater plot or not, Hermione stumbled into it. It was there that she encountered to lovely Ginevra (gasp! how could I have been so stupid as to call her Virginia? I am ashamed...ASHAMED!!! Clearly, I finally got around to visiting JKR's website and am now terribly ashamed at my newb-ish mistake. But, will I ever pore over the entire story and change the name wherever it occurs? NEVER! This story will NEVER be proofread! Vive la revolucion!!) and the now furiously blushing Harry in a dark corner. Ginny was whispering something in his ear, and Harry was getting redder by the minute. Hmm...perhaps she's whispering something...sexual? Perhaps about...Tom Felton? sigh floats gently back down to Earth as she realizes that her concept of Draco looks nothing like Tom Felton more like a blonde Lucas zombie drool Okay, so if not about Tom Felton, perhaps Ginny was whispering about...a blonde Lucas? Oh, be still, my heart!! (Actually, that's a lie. Anne doesn't really enjoy blonde guys. Perhaps that's why she hearts Lucas so much, despite the fact that he never talks to her. He does indeed have dark hair.)(dark, floofy hair) Hermione giggled and looked away quickly. She didn't want Harry to think that she had been eavesdropping. (plot bunnies rejoice!) (as you can probably tell by now, these little tangents have nothing whatsoever to do with the story. Anne just enjoys tangents. and Lucas, and dark hair, and talking, and writing, and torturing others, and chocolate. But especially talking.) (so, obvoiusly, Anne has no plot bunnies and has no idea what will happen two paragraphs away from now.) (In fact, Anne has no idea which word she will type next.) (this story's kinda go with the flow, loosey-goosey, baby, oh yeah, work it.) (On with the story!!) In a different dark corner, Hermione spotted Fred and George nuzzling up to each other. (Oh, God, twincest!! I don't think I could handle the sex scenes...they'd be painful to type...) (Let's just redo that sentence, shall we??) In a different dark corner, Hermione spotted Fred and George nuzzling up to Lavender Brown (little bitchy slut) and Parvati Patil. Hmm, no, I don't like that pairing either. Too underage-ey. Let's try, ONE LAST TIME!!! In a different dark corner, Hermione spotted Fred and George nuzzling up to Katie Bell and Angelina...some sort of last name. (Oh, Gods, I feel terrible. How could I forget Angelina's last name? I—Oh, great goodness in the sky, look what's happening in THAT corner...) In a third dark corner, Draco was sipping coffee. He looked up and caught Hermione's eye just as she was about to turn away. He lifted a finger and beckoned to her. "Come hither," he mouthed with his sexy, full-lipped, Lucas-like mouth. Hermione approached, feeling weak at the knees. Surely he would reprimand her for running into his arms, sobbing?

"Now, Granger. I want you to know that I'll be there for you whenever you need a good snog. Or better yet, a good shag. But darling, I just don't think that we should be together in public. People may get the wrong idea, eh?" He grinned, showing his Lucas-like braces. Wait, no, Draco doesn't have braces. Let's just put this keyboard in reverse. He grinned, showing rows of glimmering white teeth. Hmm...rows? Does that make him sound too much like a shark?? 'Cause he's not a shark. Let's get this straight. He grinned, showing two rows, one on top and the other on bottom (innuendo!!), of glimmering white teeth.

Hermione slapped him, leaving a red handprint glowing brightly on his pale skin. Kinda like the birthmark from Hawthorne's story _The Birthmark_, only this hand was larger and would definitely fade within a half-hour. And it won't kill him to get rid of it. It might later on, when he longs so for Hermione's touch, but...I mean, it would NEVER kill him to get rid of Hermione's handprint. Because he hates her. And sees her as an object. Like Ron's porn.

"I—I..." Hermione stammered, then raced out of the store. Just then Ginny turned her head and saw Draco, smirking and rubbing his cheek.

"You think this is over, Granger?? It's not. I'll get you for this. This temporary moment of pain for me will have you begging me to stop torturing you by the end of first semester. I am Head Boy, and I have special privileges. So you'd best watch your back." he grinned his unsharklike grin and apparated out of the joke shop with a POP, leaving his coffee sitting on a shelf of canary creams, marked down to half-price due to Fred and George's back-to-school-sale, which had just happened to start that morning, because Fred woke up feeling very generous, and George, too, because they had a great night's sleep with a SERTA mattress, and they didn't have to count sheep. Poor sheep, now they're out of a job. Oh, well, half-off canary creams are half-off canary creams.

If I had been in NANO, that last paragraph would have been just for words. As is this one. I will now say a cheesy goodbye. Goodbye, because I have to pee, because I have to pee. This is gigi, signing off!!

It was next week. Which doesn't really make sense, because if it WAS next week that would make it THIS week. I'm sorry. I messed up my verb tenses. But at least I'm not a crappy friend, right? But, anyway. Hermione was boarding the train at platform nine and three quarters, and Mrs. Weasley was crying profusely. She's normally quite a strong person who gives brisk, efficient goodbyes, but she just couldn't handle seeing Hermione off to a year of being put through a private hell with that young Malfoy. Or, as Ron, Harry, Hermione, and I like to call him, ferret lad. The train whistled in its whistly way, and the wheels began to chug along slowly. This is the time that Ginny would be running alongside the train until it became too fast for her to keep up with; however, she was now old enough to be attending Hogwarts. So she wasn't. Because she was on the train that she had formerly been unable to keep up with. She and Harry had boarded together before anyone else, and had found the entire group a private compartment. Except that, once Hermione reached the compartment, it wasn't a private one. Draco Malfoy (Molefoy! Ian Kisluk, you are a genius.) was glaring at a Ginny that was glaring back with equal or greater fire in her eyes. Isn't that interesting? Humans refer to diamonds as having fire in them, and they also compare eyes to having fire in them. I suppose that means that humans compare eyes to diamonds. Which kind of makes sense, because there are phrases that compare the two directly, such as, "Her eyes sparkled like diamonds". Anyway. Ginny was glaring at Draco, and Harry was crouched in the corner of the compartment with a bloody nose. The blood had flowed freely down his face, and had soaked into his sweatshirt's collar. Hermione rushed to Harry and forced his hand away. She gazed upon a face covered in dried crimson blood, and whipped around to confront ferret lad.

I don't really remember where I left off. So i'll start in a random part that i'm absolutely positive that i have not typed yet. Sounds good? no? Well, live with it. Go screw yourself.  
The Hogwarts Express let out a steaming belch and began to chug along. chug. Chug. chug. Well, this is rather boring. let's go inside the train, shall we? I'm actually pretty sure that I've typed something similar to this before. But I can't remem- I mean, I'm using a very common, very effective writing technique. It's called flashback, dear children. Actually, flashback is something completely different. But let's just go with that because I'm conceited and I don't want to admit my mistakes.)(Or should I say that Anne is conceited and Anne doesn't want to admit her mistakes? hmm. Perhaps I'll post a poll about whether or not the dearest readers enjoy first person or third person more. Maybe it will be interesting and get more than three people to do it. Then again, maybe not. Nobody comes to my website anymore.) The camera zoomed into the train and the reader (watcher? books don't really need cameras.) was able to see Hermione and Draco facing each other, equally scathing expressions of loathing painted upon both of their faces. (you know what would be a cool idea? televised books. The camera could just move really slowly down the page to allow all of the watchers to read without getting off of their lazy asses and going to their bookshelves. Or a library)  
"Malfoy, you take that back right this INSTANT!" hermione shrieked, causing several chocolate frogs to explode because of the pure high-pitchedness of her voice. (but then again, there is the problem of people who read at different speeds. I, for one, read pretty quickly. I actually read faster than most of my friends. Including Caitlin, but she doesn't want to admit it. shifty eyes) Draco stared in amazement as several spatters of chocolate hit Hermione's cheeks. He didn't like to admit it, but he would have looooved to lick that chocolate off. What? He really, really likes chocolate. more shifty eyes (come to think of it, scratch the televised books idea. They'd have to move really slowly for all of the slow readers, and it would get boring for the quick readers.) she looked expectantly at him, hands placed on her hips in a manner of know-it-all-take-it-back-i'm-right-you're-wrong-ism. More commonly known as know-it-all-ism. But that doesn't really make sense. If Draco just called her a mudblood, why would she look at him like she knew everything? That wouldn't really want to make him apologize any more. in fact, it might even make him want to apologize LESS:O . yes. I think that curly knows that I stalk him. (you couldn't honestly expect for me to go on this long without going off on at least two tangetns, could you? Well, COULD YOU?!) i saw him walking down the hall with his friend the other day, and she was like "Stalker?! Whaaaa?!" and he made the hush-hush hand gestures. But ohhhh well. There are other fish in the sea. And once I eat them all and become super-powerful from the overdoses of omega-3 fatty acids, i will RULE THE WORLD!!!!! MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Look at my myspace. ish fuun. I think eventually this story will have a chapter that is composed entirely of my myspace blogs. because that would be fun. And easy. And then I could get the monkeys off my back for not posting my story quickly enough.  
Anyway, back to the non-existent plot! Draco simply looked at Hermione's looking at him for looking at her for looking at him. Hermione squeaked. And it wasn't a cute, I'm so cute, ask me out kind of squeak, either. This was an all-out aunt marge is blowing up, dear god help the wizarding world kind of squeak. okay, I take it back. it wasn't really a squeak. it was more of a high-pitched grunt. Apparently Hermione's voice becomes extremely high-pitched when she is mad. Be sure to remember that...waiiiiiit for it...for later on in the story.  
Five minutes later, not much had changed. Except for Hermione blowing up Draco in a harry-blowing-up-Aunt-Marge-esque manner, spitting on him, being electrocuted and dying, lectured by professor McGonnagall, and coming back from the grave, everything was exactly the same. okay, that's a filthy lie. she didn't really die. But she did return from the grave...hmm. I don't really understand how that's possible, but apparently it is. shrugs This story is out of my control. bill's spirit has possessed my fingers and is attempting to reveal the plotty secrets from the grave. it will never work, oh great Bill the chosen one! argh...must stop...typing...  
And now Anne's fingers are in a Bill's-spirit-possessing-her frenzy. They are dancing in a maddening blur across the keyboard, almost as if her fingers were possessed by some sort of enraged demon who really REALLY wants to give away the plot before it is ready to get married. Okay, that didn't make any sense. dear readers, I am Bill. You would be able to tell that quite easily if Anne went and put little html Italics signs on this paragraph, but she's too lazy. i'm too lazy, as well. sooooo. how are y'all doing? That's good.

Get...to...the...point...!

oh, riiight. can't forget to give away the plot while I still ahve control of Anne's hands! lololol. that would be pretty stupid. Anyway...

"Draco seized Hermione around the midsection and pulled her close for a passionate kiss. As their lips danced the one-woman tango on top of the English room's table, Hermione began to feel a stirring deep within herself. She suddenly had the urge to propose marriage to Draco. so she did. And they were married the next week, though Hermione looked absolutely dreadful from staying up for so long planning her wedding. She's strictly opposed to beauty charms. they had their honeymoon, and it was very steamy, and all was good. or should I say, God?"  
AGH! BILL, I HATE YOU!!!!!! That beauty charms thing wasn't supposed to come out until chapter 15! By that time, I'll be so bored with this story that i won't be able to type without bill's help. which means that the entire plot will be given away by chapter 15. Well, that's just lovely, then, isn't it?? Argh. the giving away of the plot line is inevitable. stupid goddam Bill. and his stupid goddam giving away of the plot lone. if it weren't for that, I'd never update and I'd be happy with the way that the story left mystery in the minds of all its readers which never visit or sign my guestbook anymore. Arghlesnort. crap. crappity crappity crap crap crap. Curly. teeheeheehee. it sounds like a three stooges name. Maybe that's because it IS a three stooges name! lololol. it's funny because it's true!

Well. Yes. hermione was punished. Given detention for a week. and Draco was punished similarly. Almost entirely exactly the same, actually. ExACTLY the same. lol. The next chapter will be about detention in Snape's dungeons. wait, should I save that surefire excuse for the main characters to have sex for later on in the story? naaah. I'll never get to it if I don't use it next. And perhaps it will respark my interest in this story. yaay.

End of chapter 10. wow. I think there were three whole sentences in there that involved the story! i'm getting better about my tangents, non?

Grammar, grammar, grammar. Hermione Granger was obsessed with grammar. She had been very anal about her peers using perfect grammar from the moment she arrived at school. Several first years were in the hospital wing at that very moment in time when chapter 11 started due to improper verb tense usage. (Man, would Hermione hate me.)

Granger, Granger, Granger. Draco Malfoy was obsessed with Granger. (Isn't it neat the way I used parallel structure to show the obsessions of both Draco and Hermione? Man, does the English language rule.) He had been very anal about Hermione Granger not coming near him from the moment he arrived at school. Draco Malfoy was in fact, at the very point in time when chapter 11 started, crouching behind a stone pillar in the dining hall, creeping about it so as to be always on his guard against the filthy Mudblood. His silver-blond hair was damp with terror sweat (I sooo stole that from the Simpsons), that very sweat which dissolved industrial-strength glue. The curly-haired demon walked past the pillar and Draco released a hidden sigh that he hadn't known had been hidden. Apparently, his sigh was hidden pretty damn well.

Hermione suddenly heard a sigh from behind her. This sigh was no ordinary sigh; this sigh was a hidden sigh that had been hidden pretty damn well. She fwipped about (if this were a comic book, there would be a "fwip" written in this panel), only to see Draco...ahem, MALFOY, crouched behind a stone pillar next to the Slytherin table. He froze. She froze. They all froze. And then the whole world fell apart. BOOM. Draco raced from behind the pillar and fell down onto the floor. He then stumbled to his feet. Standing, he swaggered his way to the door, falling down several more times on the way. No, wait. Nevermind. I mistook Ron for Draco. So Draco had been hiding behind the pole, but he had raced from behind the pillar and not fallen down. Ron, who was the person falling down so very many times, had been chasing Draco for spying on his woman. Oh, dear. It's a good thing that Hermione isn't a mind reader, or Ron would be small, warty, and brown right about now. Woops, spoke too soon.

Ron was small, warty and brown. Hmm...this sounds incredibly familiar. Oh, well. He hopped along in a futile attempt to continue his massacre on the ferret that was peeping at his girl. Ohhh, how he wanted to roast some ferret and force-feed it to Malfoy. Hmm. That doesn't make a lot of sense, as Malfoy is the ferret that Ron wanted to roast. Ohhhh, well! On with the meaningless plot!

Hermione rolled her eyes. Now she not only had to worry about Ron and his Neanderthalish over-protectiveness. Honestly, she was only his friend. He had no reason to try his hand at being massacred by Draco Malfoy simply because he had been hiding from her behind a stone pillar. Well, whatever his motivation (the useless prat), it was irrelevant now. She had a detention to serve in Snape's dungeons tonight...along with a certain (sexy) Slytherin (woot! Steamy floor-scrubbing!) She raced off to her semi-private common room to pick up her books for her morning classes. (Why was it only semi-private, you ask? Why, the great cowardly Slytherin Sex God himself shared her humble abode!) (Oh yes, I should have specified. Chapter 11 started at breakfast. I already said it was in the dining hall. TAKE THAT, CURSED EXPOSITION FAIRIES!!!)

Hermione raced up the stairs, never tripping once. Holy crap. That's like ten stairs less than I would have tripped on. Seriously. Once, at school, I fell down this really short set of stairs. I tripped over the pole separating both sides of the staircase and fell flat on my face. Luckily my dark Draco wasn't there. sigh I already miss my dark Draco...he graduated on Saturday. 'Tis sad, 'tis sad. However, that is irrelevant, because the real Draco has not graduated and left our heroine (simply MUST remember that needle scene...) all aloney on her owney. In any case, back to the story!

She murmured the password to the guardian of her common room (common room guardian? portrait person? thingy?), which was a portrait of an irate witch who looked rather like a hippopotamus dressed in a feathery tutu, and entered the portrait hole. Upon entering, she discovered Malfoy lying back on the couch, his back facing her. He was whispering to himself and seeming to moan. His arm was moving in jerky movements and she couldn't quite see his hand as it had disappeared into his...OH GOD, MALFOY, GET YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR TROUSERS! Now THAT'S a sight that, as oversexed as Draco may be, Hermione had most definitely not been expecting to see. Although she did find it strangely endearing...okay, yeah that's probably a good idea. Run to your room, Hermione! Run and hum a little tune...that's right, drown out those masturbatory moans. Hoorah! She's there! Oh, sweet sanctuary! The solitude and silent oasis that is...hmm. No, actually, Hermione, I preferred it in the common room. At least it wasn't entirely boring down there. Oh well. Dear readers, let's wander about Hermione's room as she collects her books. Still humming that little tune, eh, Hermione? Hmm. It's kind of...catchy. Book...book...poster and book...book...book...poster and book...red lampshade! Book, cat, book, cat, poster and book, cat Crookshanks, red lampshade! hahaha. That would sound so cool to the tune of "The Mysterious Ticking Noise." If you haven't seen it yet, visit and watch it!

Anyway. Hmm. I'm pretty sure this is a good place to end this chapter. Comment me in the guestbook, gentle reader! haha...Brad Neely. Watch his genius! Or, rather, listen to it! Goodbye until next time, all!

Hermione had realized something in the short time that she sought sanctuary in her room. This thought, this idea, that she had was so absolutely mind-blowingly-awe-inspiringly-wonderful she would have killed Harry (okay, so not Harry. She would have killed Ron.) just to realize it again and again. Because her idea was true. Wait...that makes no sense. Okay, let's leave it at this: Hermione realized something about Draco Malfoy in that short expanse of time. Draco Something Malfoy was a playboy. If he had been a Muggle (good thing that he wasn't) he would've been one of the kind that lounged about in their five-floor mansions all day, watching internet porn and drinking martinis. And do you know what else? The martinis would have been shaken. That's right, shaken. By hand. And not stirred. Le gasp. Draco Malfoy, had he been a Muggle, would have been the reincarnation of Hugh Hefner. (sp?) Even though Hugh Hefner isn't dead. Alright, let's just say this: Draco Malfoy was a rich, spoiled snobbish prevert. Now, this may not seem like an important revelation to waste an entire opening paragraph on, but Hermione always tried to think the best about people. Okay, true, she already knew that Malfoy was an oversexed prat of a ferret, but she had never really thought of him as a rich, spoiled snobbish pervert. So basically, she worded her insult differently. So this paragraph really has no relevancy to the story. Just ignore it entirely, if you please. (Well, honestly, none of this story has anything to do with anything. It's basically just a load of random nonsensical words arranged in a manner pleasing to me. So, if you really don't want to read something that has relevance, ignore the entire story. But please sign the guestbook on your way out.)

Hermione honestly had no idea whether or not it was safe to venture into the shared common room at the present time. However, she didn't have much choice. There were two options that presented themselves to her. One: she could race through the common room and out the portrait hole as fast as her little legs would carry her, risking the entire while seeing Malfoy with his hand down his trousers again. Or there was option number two: she could be late to her first class. Well, which option would canon Hermione choose? I do, after all, want to keep this story fairly close to the books.

_Ooh, I know! Pick me, pick me!_

Hmm...who to call upon. Oh, I know, Bill! Tell the kind readers the correct answer!

_She would choose option number two, as canon Hermione is incredibly innocent and blushes if she sees even the slightest mention of danger! Or sex!_

...Bill, you're an idiot. Canon Hermione was chosen for Gryffindor. And, as we all know, Gryffindors are known for their...?

_Umm...fantastic racks?_

Bill, you muddle-brained excuse for a blue-footed booby! Gryffindors are courageous! They are full of courage and courageousness! Also, Hermione, being the punctual person that she is, would never miss even a minute of her precious, precious classes pertaining to instructions on how to use magic. So Obviously, canon Hermione, the punctual Gryffindor, would choose option number one. She grabbed her bookbag, slung it over her shoulder, clamped her eyes shut, gritted her teeth, placed her hand on the doorknob, turned it to the right, opened the door, raced through it, clambered down the stairs, tore straight through common room, shoved open the portrait door, and stumbled into the hall. Then she caught her breath, which she hadn't realized she had been holding. Afterwards, she sprinted to her first class of the day, Transfiguration. Arriving fifteen minutes early, she sat. In a chair. At a desk. And all was good.

ermiuHermi


End file.
